


We Are Not Things

by crimson__witch



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: Eventual Romance, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Power Dynamics, Sickfic, Slow Burn Zelda Spellman/Mary Wardwell | Madam Satan | Lilith, Trauma, Trust Issues, Witchcraft, Witches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-01-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:55:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22181422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimson__witch/pseuds/crimson__witch
Summary: As Lilith works to protect her throne and Zelda the coven, the hell queen and the high priestess find themselves repeatedly drawn together. (Set just after the close of P2)*Chapter 2 is a sickfic, seemingly a rarity in this pairing
Relationships: Zelda Spellman & Mary Wardwell | Madam Satan | Lilith, Zelda Spellman/Mary Wardwell | Madam Satan | Lilith
Comments: 12
Kudos: 97





	1. Trust Me

**Author's Note:**

> If it were up to me, CAOS would be a sapphic romantic drama led by the queen of hell and her high priestess (ah, if only...) This is set just after the end of part 2, with no regard for what may happen in the upcoming season. Slow burn, with plenty of hurt/comfort and hopefully BDSM on the menu. Enjoy!
> 
> {Title is a hat tip to Fury Road}

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With her throne under suspected threat, Lilith pays Zelda a visit...

Fear. 

It was a feeling Lilith had grown accustomed to, one she had learned to manage and even leverage for motivation — and yet she had hoped it would dissipate somewhat in the aftermath of recent events. Not so. It seemed that things would never be easy for her.

She had wanted this throne, _yearned_ for it, for so long, and yet she never imagined her ascension would require the entrapment of the fallen angel she had once loved so dearly. How painful it had been, the realization that he had never intended for her to rule by his side. The betrayal, the... humiliation. And the sudden freedom from his control — as mortifying as it was exhilarating. But here she was, alive, in control, Queen.

For now. 

Not many mortal days had elapsed since the coup and thus she found herself in a period of adjustment, longer than she liked. Of mourning, which she had not anticipated, which snuck up on her in the strangest times. Maddening, the idea that she still cared for him — and even worse in her weakest moments, when she visited his prison and found herself daring to consider, impossibly, freeing him. Fortunately, each time the poisonous memories flooded back quickly enough to return her to her own mind, outweighing a troubling, primal need she could not shake — a need for the security of having someone else in control, the anchor of someone to please.

Of course, she was not the only weak link in the equation. No, the witches — specifically her former master’s half-witch daughter, whom she was, for the moment at least, no longer keen to kill — would not remain content to abandon Nicholas, poor Nicholas who had willingly, with a clear mind despite his guilty conscience, given his life for the greater good. But knowing Sabrina, there was little chance that things would be left alone. 

And given Sabrina’s recent displays of great power, things could easily get... messy. 

She told herself that was what brought her to the mortuary the night of the new moon — the fear of losing her throne, coupled with a desire to avert what was perhaps inevitable chaos. It wasn’t wholly false; after all, she had plenty to deal with in hell without earthly beings meddling. Yet it wasn’t the full truth. Not when Zelda was involved.

She was High Priestess, now. A title self-proclaimed until Lilith had given her seal of approval, an act the demon queen had treated as perfectly ordinary and inconsequential (after all, she lacked alternatives). But the truth was that Zelda had managed to capture and hold her interest. Her eagerness to serve, irritatingly present before — and all too similar to Lilith’s own — had mellowed, perhaps shattered by what had transpired with Lucifer, and by the trauma suffered at the hands of that vile, pathetic excuse for a warlock. An uncertain leadership had filled the void, a leadership fueled by Zelda’s determination to protect and empower the coven. For that, Lilith was grateful.

But they did not yet trust each other.

Certainly Zelda wanted to believe again, to believe in something, someone, after what had happened. And it was clear she had a certain... interest in Lilith, an interest that Lilith in her more honest moments acknowledged was mutual, though still required considerable unraveling. But while Zelda was beginning to find an anchor in Lilith and her newly founded Church, former misdeeds were not easily forgotten. 

For her part, Lilith typically cared little for trust — but logic told her again and again that she could not maintain her position and hard-fought power alone. It was impossible to walk this path without allies, without a partner. The truth was, she _needed_ Zelda. She needed her on her side, needed to be able to rely on her. Oh, how she disliked the feeling, the vulnerability of it. But if it was here to stay, it was high time it became mutual.

She appeared in the mortuary without warning that night, sketch of a plan in her mind as she assumed the familiar form of Mary Wardwell. Despite spending so much time in the woman’s body, she always found herself disoriented and unbalanced in the first moments of assumption, caught by something akin to claustrophobia as she adjusted to the sharp restriction of her senses, the odd feeling as she moved the woman’s limbs, stiff but surprisingly flexible.

Once adjusted, Lilith found a somewhat cruel enjoyment in surprising the witches by the simple act of appearing without a summons. Tonight she caught the sisters in the kitchen after a late meal, Hilda chattering away whilst washing the evening’s dishes, Zelda smoking a cigarette over a stack of documents, ignoring her sister entirely. 

The hell queen leaned against the doorframe, observing the witches silently for a moment before making her presence known. When she finally spoke, she delighted in the way Zelda’s head snapped up, at the splash in the sink as a startled Hilda dropped a plate into soapy water.

“I do hope I’m not interrupting anything...” she started — empty, self-satisfied words said solely to fill the stunned silence.

Zelda was out of her seat before Lilith finished, scrape of her chair’s wood against the floor sharp and unpleasant. “What’s wrong?”

Lilith walked toward the table, holding Zelda’s eyes for a beat before glancing toward Hilda. Both witches were holding their breath. “Must there always be something wrong for me to visit?” Lilith asked, feigning innocence until Zelda’s tense swallow forced her hand. “I’m afraid we do need to talk. It’s about Sabrina.”

“Sabrina?” The sisters asked simultaneously, Hilda’s voice a good deal higher than Zelda’s, their eyes connecting in concern.

“And Nicholas,” Lilith added, running her fingers along the back of the chair typically reserved for Sabrina. She looked pointedly at Zelda, hoping to find understanding in the high priestess’ eyes. But Zelda was unreadable, and Lilith found herself studying her face, her jawline, thoughts drifting despite the circumstances.

Perhaps Zelda noticed the queen’s wandering eyes, or perhaps she was preoccupied by the many unknowns suddenly thrust upon her. Either way, there was a pause as she cleared her throat before responding, “What have you done with her?”

 _There._ There was the lack of trust. Not that Lilith could much blame her, given their history. “Nothing has been done,” Lilith said pointedly, only softening her voice slightly as she added, “Not yet.”

“Do say what you mean,” Zelda responded, a flash of something — regret? — crossing her face as the words left her mouth. 

Lilith raised an eyebrow, appreciating the honest response. “I’m afraid Sabrina seems to be... plotting something that would unleash the very chaos we came together to avert. Now, it is not my own—"

“She wouldn’t.”

It was Hilda’s voice this time, a whisper of disbelief that drew both Zelda’s and Lilith’s eyes. 

“I’m afraid she would,” Lilith responded, tilting her head with a wry smile, sighing. “The boy has quite the draw, it seems.” 

The High Priestess looked at her then, a piercing stare that sent a tingle down Lilith’s spine as she met her eyes. “We will speak to Sabrina,” Zelda responded with authority, struggling to contain panicked fury. 

Lilith pursed her lips for a moment, stepping closer to the kitchen table and visually tracing its edge, feigning deep thought to buy herself precious seconds with which she scrambled to form the appropriate response. When she looked up she met Hilda’s eyes first. “You know Sabrina better than anyone,” she said slowly, finally glancing at Zelda so as to gauge her reaction. “I do not mean to encroach on your territory, but I’m afraid this plan may already be in motion. I'd like to keep my eye on this house for a while, if you would grant me that privilege.”

Zelda held her eyes, nostrils flaring just slightly as she considered the request. Lilith offered the slightest smile, hoping the witch was pleased by her effort to obtain consent.

“How,” Zelda responded finally, more of a statement than a question. Suddenly she seemed to remember the dwindling cigarette in her hand, reaching to stub it out. 

“Fire,” Lilith said matter-of-factly, motioning to the candles burning on the table and window sill. It was then that her eyes caught a shadow on the wall, a shadow in the shape of Lucifer’s beastly form. In the space of a second she swallowed a gasp of panic, heart in her throat as she turned toward the origin, nearly sighing with relief when she found the source: a hideous yet innocent antique statue. _Calm down, calm down..._ Masking the rush of relieved adrenaline with a fake smile, she added, “My window to this world, it seems.” 

Zelda narrowed her eyes, as if reading her racing thoughts. But then Hilda mumbled something, something Lilith did not catch but Zelda seemed to, the witch turning to her sister and silencing her with a glare. Lilith watched them, waiting. “Well?”

Zelda took a breath, one hand moving to her hip, dominant. “And how long have you been watching us through the flames?”

“I haven’t.” The words came immediately, the urge to defend herself superseding a witty response. Quickly she regrouped, swallowing and studying Zelda’s delicate features. “Things are... different now. I will not without your permission.” 

And there it was, finally, the shift in Zelda’s expression Lilith so desperately wanted — Zelda believed her. Swallowing against the urge to celebrate, Lilith simply allowed herself a deep breath as she awaited the response she knew she had earned.

“If you will agree not to hurt Sabrina, you have it,” Zelda said evenly, eyes flitting to Hilda for a split second, long enough to see her sister nod. Then, to Lilith-- “What you spoke of must not occur.”

“It is agreed, then. Thank you,” Lilith almost purred the words, utterly pleased with herself. “Should you need me, simply light a candle and speak my name.”

The sisters nodded, Hilda’s nod much more eager than Zelda’s almost imperceptible gesture, more a pursing of the lips and shifting of the eyes than a nod of agreement. Unable to read the reaction, Lilith scanned the room until she found an unlit candle, igniting the wick with a wave of her hand and stepping carefully around the table to face the witch. This close, she could see everything Zelda was usually so good at keeping hidden, including glimmers of desire in the witch’s eyes. _Oh..._ Lilith's own desire was not to be trusted, not yet. But to command Zelda’s attention this way... oh, how she relished it.

“Until then,” Lilith murmured, eyes locked on Zelda’s lips as she handed over the candle, reluctantly breaking her gaze as she turned toward the hall. 

_Zelda my darling, this is only the beginning..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank yoU for reading x


	2. Witch's Flu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Zelda gets the flu, and Lilith unexpectedly takes care of her.  
> (aka: I wrote the Madam Spellman sickfic I wanted to read)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is set about a week after the previous chapter...

Cold. So cold. 

An hour before the sunrise Zelda woke suddenly, body gripped by an unfamiliar, almost suffocating chill. Exhausted and annoyed, she managed a cursory glance around the bedroom, eyes open long enough to confirm no curtains askew, no spirits or demons come to visit unexpectedly. Just Hilda, snoring softly in her bed, seemingly unaffected. Too tired to explore further, Zelda pulled the blankets up to her chin, muttering a gentle warming spell to help herself slip back into sleep. Her sister would need to handle whatever needed handling when she rose for the day, and that was that.

And yet the next time she opened her eyes, it was with an audible scowl that nothing — save for Hilda’s now-empty bed — had changed. The room remained absolutely freezing. She threw the covers aside, irritated that once again a problem fell to her to handle.

Her feet had scarcely touched the floor when she felt the sharp pounding behind her eyes, a throbbing much worse than the dull ache she had learned to live with in recent weeks. _Wonderful._ Grimacing at the shock of bare skin exposed to cold air, she reached for her robe, trying to blink away the haze of sleep. She’d only just begun to pull the silk around her shoulders when she shivered, a tremor that ran up the length of her spine and down again, stealing her breath.

Startled, Zelda tried to still her trembling hands as she tied her robe around her waist in an attempt to stave off the relentless cold. She was about to light the fireplace when her fingers grazed her cheek while adjusting her hair and found her skin alarmingly warm.

No. No, that wasn’t possible. Ignoring a sudden flutter of anxiety, Zelda marched over to the windows and yanked a curtain aside, hoping to find an open or broken window. She blinked in the bright sunlight, biting back a hiss of pain as her pupils narrowed, glare adding to the throb behind her forehead. To her dismay, nothing seemed amiss. She tugged the curtain back to its original position and turned away, fighting another shiver — the cold was almost intolerable now, settled deep in her bones, _aching._

Zelda had not been ill for years. The last episode she could recall had been the direct result of Hilda’s foolish, inexplicable decision to visit to a sick witch’s home almost a decade ago, or longer. So there must be some other explanation — perhaps she’d been over-exerting herself, using too much magic, too often, not sleeping enough… well, that much was certainly true.

Only then did she notice the clock. It was nearly seven; she would soon be missed in the kitchen. Puzzling over the cause of her current discomfort would have to wait — she was in no mood to explain what would surely be a very noticeable absence from the breakfast table. And so, exhausted as she felt, she forced herself to walk slowly toward her vanity, pausing to nip a pain potion from the drawer Hilda kept hidden by a (weak) spell. 

Now, if only Hilda could brew something stronger...

—

Unsurprisingly given the morning’s events, Zelda was last to the breakfast table, arriving to find Sabrina occupied by some sort of puzzle while Hilda busied herself at the stove. The _Novaya Gazeta_ lay waiting for her, pastries and fruit arranged on the table in what Hilda likely believed to be tasteful fashion. Zelda acknowledged the greetings of the others as if nothing were amiss, taking her seat and immediately lighting her (third) cigarette — at least the nicotine was dulling the sharp edges of this horrific morning. If anyone noticed that Zelda had chosen a dress and jacket better suited to December than September, they — wisely — held their tongues.

Just as Zelda opened the paper, Hilda approached with a tray of soft boiled eggs, irritatingly cheerful as ever. “Had a nice lie-in, did you Zelds?”

Zelda considered ignoring her but instead settled for a curt, “With your snoring keeping me awake past two, I consider myself lucky to have slept at all.”

Hilda made a face at that, Zelda knew. She knew without looking up and she almost smiled, grateful for the small reminder of normalcy, for the distraction from the headache, from the cold, from the soreness in her stomach she was just beginning to notice as she inhaled the multitude of aromas wafting over from the stove.

Despite her scant appetite — a sure sign that something was wrong, as Zelda never skipped breakfast — she began to nibble at a still-warm croissant, sipping tea to ease the rawness in her throat. The pastry tasted, quite impossibly given how much butter her sister baked with, like ashes in her mouth; her only motivation to finish was a certainty that abandoning the flaky thing would attract unwanted attention. Her dress felt too light and too heavy all at once, making her long to return to her bed, slip back under the blankets...

Her thoughts were broken by one of Sabrina’s loud declarations that some unknown situation was “unacceptable” and she would “do something about it, if no one else would.” On a typical morning Zelda would have been listening carefully to the conversation from the very beginning, splitting her focus with ease as she read. But today she could hardly concentrate on the articles before her, let alone simultaneously keep track of the chatter. What in heaven had she missed...

“Do something about what, Sabrina?” Her voice sounded sharp, normal, and Zelda felt herself relax the slightest bit, because surely she was fine, just fine.

For the space of a heartbeat Sabrina looked thrown by the question, surprised by the revelation that her aunt had not been closely following every word. But she made a swift recovery, proceeding with trademark indignation— “About the _ridiculous_ new dress code at Baxter High. It’s obviously a direct attempt to prevent students from expressing themselves, within the bounds of reason, of course, on school grounds. And if no one else...”

But Zelda had heard enough, turning back to her paper with great relief that this was not one of Sabrina’s fatally preposterous, charge-into-hell plans but rather something so inane she could not care less about it. “Well,” she replied after Sabrina finally finished explaining her chosen course of action, “good luck.” She registered her niece’s earnest thanks, but was too distracted by the fierce pounding behind her eyes — clearly Hilda’s potion had been a spectacular failure — to comment further. 

Fortunately Sabrina was soon on her way out into the world. As the door slammed Zelda shifted in her chair and swallowed against an urge to cough, eyeing Hilda covertly from behind her paper. It was not just her head, that was certain now — she could feel the heat on her cheeks, the ache in her stomach growing worse as alternating waves of frigid cold and uneasy warmth washed over her. Yet despite it all Hilda paid her no mind, seemingly preoccupied by breakfast and her second - third? - cup of tea. 

Given the circumstances, the prospect of rising and heading off to the Academy per her usual schedule was extraordinarily unappealing. And yet even on days like this, when all Zelda truly wanted was to return to her bed and shut the curtains and sleep, admitting any sort of weakness was not something that came easily to her. She knew what would happen, of course, were she to turn and tell her sister that she was feeling ill. Hilda would jump into care-taking mode, something that she had always been irritatingly skilled at, and Zelda would be given permission — nay, _encouraged_ — to rest, to take all the time she needed to recover. But she didn’t deserve that, not now, not when so many were relying on her for help, for guidance, for… survival. 

And so she found herself abandoning her morning paper and standing on legs that felt less reliable than usual, snuffing out her cigarette as she addressed her sister. “Be sure that the body downstairs is handled before I get back, Hilda. The family will be around tomorrow and we shall not keep them waiting _again._ ” Her mind conjured an image of the mutilated corpse and she swallowed hard, purging unwelcome thoughts as she headed toward the door.

“Oh not to worry, Sabrina and I handled him last night.” A pause, long enough for Zelda to reach the hall, but then— “Zelda?” 

Perhaps it was the concern in Hilda’s voice, or perhaps there were traces of the Caligari spell she had yet to shake, but Zelda — against her better judgment — turned around. “What, Hilda?” Despite her sharp tone, her sister’s earnest, concerned expression sent an entirely different chill down Zelda’s spine. Hilda knew something was wrong.

“Just wanted to... check on you, is all. Seemed a bit quiet this morning, barely touched breakfast.”

“I’m fine, sister.” Her words were clipped and dull, so different from her usual tone that Zelda averted her eyes. Dizzy, she cleared her throat, trying to recover. “I really must be going.” Not trusting herself to answer questions her sister no doubt had, she spun on her heel and headed for the bedroom.

—

Nearly fainting on the stairs was not enough to convince Zelda to stay home. Upstairs, she ignored the call of her bed and downed a second potion labeled for fever and body aches, grimacing at the taste of vinegar and rat’s blood. After fixing her lipstick and collecting her things, she shut her eyes and summoned the energy required to teleport to the Academy. 

The transport was one of her clumsiest, magic evidently weakened by whatever her body was fighting. Arriving in her office — a room still largely unfamiliar despite the long hours she had spent there over the last week — Zelda nearly collapsed, hands grasping for the edge of her desk just to keep herself upright. Her vision swam, head pounding so fiercely she worried she might pass out. But after a moment the feeling lifted and she straightened, smoothing her dress and taking two deep, measured breaths. She was fine. 

The morning passed horribly slowly, Zelda feeling a touch better thanks to Hilda’s second potion but still unable to shake the troubling chill she had woken with. Fortunately the ache in her head had dulled just enough for her to focus on her morning tasks and prepare for a pair of meetings scheduled before lunch, the second of which she had been dreading even before it was set. The coven was not unanimous in its approval of how things had transpired of late — and it was left to her to negotiate with everyone who remained, even those she would much rather hit with a hammer. 

Before that, fortunately, was a less infuriating follow-up discussion regarding an overhaul of the curriculum, a sorely needed development Zelda was proud to preside over. Right on schedule, just before ten witches began arriving, talking quietly as they arranged themselves at the table Zelda had acquired specifically for gatherings such as this. She shivered as she joined them, hand clutching the cup of tea she had just brewed. 

“Chilly in here, isn’t it?”

Zelda felt her entire core tense as she turned toward the source of the voice. A witch whom she barely knew smiled at her, adjusting a scarf that looked to have been recently pulled from a dumpster. “I’ll have to check the boiler room,” Zelda heard herself say, knowing she would do nothing of the sort. She took another sip of tea, praying to Lilith that no others would notice anything amiss.

_Lilith._

Zelda felt a flush of warmth wholly unrelated to illness at the thought of the demon queen, her first all morning. Lilith had been often on her mind of late, ever since her unexpected visit the week before, appearing in more dreams than the witch cared to admit, some much more... pleasing than others. 

It was about more than power this time, her interest. Faustus had been a means to an end, but a player much more difficult to manage than she had anticipated. Lilith was entirely different. The power imbalance remained, yes, but it was more than that. They had both suffered at the hands of their male counterparts, and come together in the aftermath of trauma that refused to disappear overnight. They needed one another. And despite lingering mistrust, there seemed to be something of a mutual curiosity, something drawing them together, something...

Zelda felt her eyes drooping with exhaustion and swallowed hard, forcing herself to sit with her back straight with the hope that rigid posture might keep her more alert. _Focus._ At two minutes past, she sifted through her notes and withdrew a chart detailing agreed-upon next steps, clearing her throat to get the others’ attention. “Alright, let’s begin...”

—

Perhaps the meeting went well; perhaps not. By the end Zelda was in no shape to do anything but dismiss everyone as quickly as possible without raising alarm. As the door swung shut she lowered one hand to her stomach while raising the other to her too-warm forehead, leaning toward the table as a soft moan arose unsolicited. Oh, she felt ill. Her empty tea cup sat nearby, taunting her as her stomach shifted uneasily. No. She was not about to be sick, not here.

Despite everything she forced herself to return to her desk, breathing coming heavier now, vision blurring slightly as she reached for a glass of water. Just a sip, that was all. Despite the dryness of her throat she found it difficult to swallow, her heart pounding in her ears, loud, too loud.

Moments passed, minutes perhaps. It seemed that all Zelda could focus on was her heartbeat, the room around her growing fuzzy and oddly quiet, her stomach beginning to churn, an entirely unpleasant sensation that sent a chill of dread down her spine. She despised being ill for precisely this reason — the lack of control. Sick warmth was coming in waves, making her dig her fingernails into her thigh as she tried to resist the rising nausea. But when saliva began to pool in her mouth she found herself bolting to the bathroom, barely making it in time to be violently ill. 

Her hand trembled as she pulled back from the toilet and leaned against the wall, slowly releasing hair she’d so hastily gathered to the side. Her fingers brushed her neck and found damp skin — sweat. _How distasteful._ She coughed, groaning as her head pounded fiercely behind her eyes, stomach cramping. Small comfort that her office had its own bathroom; at least this way no one was around to witness her in such a dreadful state.

If only she could sleep... the thought lingered a moment too long as Zelda struggled to collect herself, to return to her senses and conclude that of course she would not stay here on the tiled floor of the bathroom, crumpled like a rag doll. She had work to do.

After rinsing her mouth and smoothing her hair without glancing at the mirror — surely some reflections were best avoided — she returned to her office, walking more slowly now, limbs aching, weakness threatening to send her back to the floor. A wave of dizziness arose just as she arrived at her desk, Zelda once again reaching to brace herself against it, fingers gripping the edge, head bowed between her shoulders as she took shuddering, heavy breaths. For Lilith’s sake, she felt awful.

“Zelda.”

The witch went completely still, frozen at the sound of a voice she knew all too well. _No._ No, this was all wrong, she could not — would not — be seen by anyone, let alone _her_ , in this state. After a moment of silent panic Zelda gathered herself and straightened, doing her utmost to appear calm and untroubled by what was most certainly an entirely troublesome situation. 

Lilith stood near the windows, close enough for Zelda to see the concern in her blue eyes. Instinctively Zelda reached up to adjust her hair, licking dry lips and praying she looked better than she felt. “What is it?” she asked, words catching in her throat, painfully raw after being sick. She could feel the adrenaline in her veins keeping her upright. 

“Your sister said a prayer for you this morning,” Lilith said, studying Zelda as she spoke. “It seems she was correct to worry.”

“I’m fine,” Zelda responded, holding back emotion. _Hilda had no right to alert Lilith..._ “I’m sure you have more pressing concerns to attend to.”

“Zelda,” Lilith repeated, walking toward her now. The witch found herself turning away, wishing for the energy to teleport, knowing it was impossible.

“I’m...” She could feel herself fading. Somehow she found a chair, sinking into it just as Lilith arrived by her side. “I’ve fallen ill, that’s all.” _Leave,_ her thoughts screamed, heart racing.

Suddenly Lilith’s hand was on her arm, her touch so shocking Zelda nearly pulled away in alarm. “Are you alright?” Lilith asked quietly. 

Ignoring the ridiculous question — of course she was not alright — Zelda swallowed, risking a look at the hell queen. Perched on the arm of the chair and clad in intricate black lace, Lilith offered the slightest smile, eyes connecting with Zelda’s so intensely she found herself unable to look away. “I’ve come to help you home,” Lilith added, statement of intent gentle but firm.

The high priestess swallowed again, gaze lingering on Lilith’s crimson painted lips, thoughts wandering to her dream from the night before. _Lilith...._

She was pulled from her reverie by the ticking of her clock, signaling the start of a new hour: eleven. Oh. Her meeting was set to start any moment now, yet there had been no sign of—

“I’ve sealed the room,” Lilith said, reading her thoughts. “They can wait.”

Zelda tried to speak but coughed instead, raising a hand to signal she was alright. Recovering, through the haze of exhaustion she asked roughly, “Why are you really here?”

Lilith just smiled at her, a gentle smile that despite everything warmed Zelda’s blood. “It seems we’re connected now, you and I.” She tucked a strand of unruly dark hair behind her ear, then summoned a knife and held it to her forearm. 

Zelda tensed, staring at the blade. “What—"

The demon queen sliced into her flesh, grimacing as blood spilled from the knife wound. Zelda’s body instantly went cold, a chill quite unlike the one she’d been fighting all day spreading immediately through her limbs, sick feeling of dread consuming her. “L-lilith—"

“Shh,” came the response, Lilith reaching for Zelda’s hand. “Watch.” Unable to move, Zelda had no choice but to grasp Lilith’s fingers, watching as the wound magically healed itself at record speed, Lilith reaching for a tissue to remove any remaining blood. 

Zelda gasped as she felt a rush of relief replace the coiled dread, head falling back onto the chair’s cushion as Lilith’s hand slipped from hers. “For hell’s sake, why on earth did you—"

“You felt it,” Lilith interrupted, tilting her head and shifting to meet Zelda’s eyes. “Likewise,” she murmured, the word soft, spoken with an unexpected tenderness. Yet before Zelda could respond Lilith stood abruptly, turning away from the witch as she declared, “So it seems I’ve come to help, if you’ll allow it.”

Zelda felt herself stiffen at the thought of help, something she had never been much good at receiving. And did Lilith truly intend to... take care of her? Her chest tightened, humiliation threatening. It was bad enough when Hilda saw her in a state of vulnerability, but Lilith... “While I appreciate your concern, I’m afraid it’s unnecessary,” she replied, words laced with weakness despite her best efforts to the contrary. She managed to stand, only to be immediately forced to lean against the chair she had just vacated, room spinning as her stomach rose into her throat. 

And then Lilith was there, gripping Zelda’s arm to keep her from falling. “Careful,” she murmured, Zelda taking shaky breaths through her mouth as she struggled to pull herself together. 

Finally forced to admit defeat, Zelda cleared her throat as she tried to focus her thoughts. “Do as you must,” she replied softly, taking a breath and letting her eyes fall shut. 

—

The transport was simple yet tougher on the witch than Lilith had anticipated, Zelda nearly falling from her grasp as they landed in the mortuary. Her skin was radiating far too much heat as Lilith helped her regain her balance, keeping her grip on the witch’s arm to keep her upright. She was pale, much paler than Lilith had ever seen her, feverish and weak but (true to form) doing her utmost to disguise it. 

A stabbing sensation in her chest made Lilith pause, wincing. She was still feeling Zelda’s pain, settled as a coil of unease beneath her ribs, an ache that came close to making her eyes water. She blinked, taking a breath and groping beneath her dress for the vial she had strapped to her thigh — still there, safe.

“I’m alright,” Zelda murmured. Lilith raised an eyebrow at the obvious lie but let go all the same, watching carefully as Zelda headed toward the staircase, eyes catching on Zelda’s hips before she could stop herself. _Ugh._ The thoughts had been getting harder to smother in recent days, Zelda’s pull something she had yet to grapple with. But this, here — helping her strongest ally and protector of her coven recover from a nasty illness — this was strategic, that was all. Lilith took a deep breath, nearly rolling her eyes at herself. _Right..._

She reached the hallway just in time to see Zelda stop and steady herself against the wall, one hand pressed to her lips, cheeks deathly pale. Fuck. “Zelda,” Lilith breathed, moving toward her. But then she was gone, rushing through the bedroom and into the bathroom, Lilith following but stopping short when she heard vomiting. She grimaced, waiting for the right time to approach, giving Zelda space to recover. 

Seconds ticked by without any sign of movement. Lilith sucked in a breath before entering the bathroom, fighting to keep her face blank at the sight of Zelda on the floor, in obvious pain and utterly drained, hand over her middle as her eyes watered. Lilith went to her, crouching by her side and laying a hand on her shoulder. “You’re alright,” she said softly, more to herself than to Zelda, ready to teleport the witch to bed if she refused to cooperate.

But Zelda just swallowed and responded with an exhausted nod, hand to her head as Lilith helped her stand, moaning under her breath. It was only then that Lilith realized Zelda’s clothes were damp with sweat. “Perhaps you should change...” she wondered aloud, suddenly feeling strangely out of place. Oh, this was all wrong, wasn’t it? How could she possibly be trusted to take care of another witch after what happened to the others... to Lucifer, to Adam... A shiver ran down her spine at the precise moment she heard footsteps on the stairs. _Hilda._ Perhaps her panic had summoned her; certainly Hilda was the only person Zelda would trust to care for her so intimately. 

Moments later, the other Spellman appeared in the threshold, wide-eyed with worry. “Zelda,” she gasped, flying to her sister’s side and wrapping an arm around her protectively, ushering her to bed. “What— how on earth did you...” The words died in her throat as she sensed Lilith’s presence, turning sharply and freezing in place when she spotted the hell queen. "Oh..."

“She needs you,” Lilith said simply, feeling herself withdraw, looking once more at Zelda but finding it difficult to hold back emotion. A pause, then— “Give her this.” From beneath her dress she retrieved the vial she had carefully secured to her thigh, a thimble’s worth of deep purple liquid. Hilda took the potion with a trembling hand, gingerly examining the glass cylinder as if expecting it to explode at any moment.

When she looked up Lilith was gone, a single candle burning in her wake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hurt/comfort is my thing, so feedback is warmly received! and yes, this will be continued... thank you for reading x


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